


Pendrell Talks I thru III including Interludes

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 13:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11336172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: A first attempt at Krycek/Pendrell slash, written from Pendrell's point-of-view.





	Pendrell Talks I thru III including Interludes

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Pendrell Talks or Richie and Fonzie by Merri-Todd Webster

20 September 1998  
From: Merri-Todd Webster []  
Sent: Tuesday, August 18, 1998 11:10 AM  
Subject: [slashx] Pendrell Talks, or Richie and Fonzie (K/P, 1/1, R)  
DISCLAIMER: They're not mine, I just channel them freely.  
For CiCi, who swore in capital letters that she would beta-read *any* Pendrell fic I wrote. For Te, who promised me a foot massage if I wrote K/P, then spun the prayer wheels of delirium on my behalf and also offered herself as beta. In honor of Kass, whose "The Training of P" opened my eyes to Pendrell possibilities and haunted me for days. With love to Amirin, who has been telling me how good I am for almost a year now. With respect to Brendan Beiser for embodying sane redheadedness as Pendrell. And with love to my husband, because.  
There is a small quote from "Goober and the Czar" regarding Pendrell's relative scores on his Academy exam and his firearms test. With a deep bow to DB Kate.  
This having premiered on XAPen, I send it on now to the rest of the XF slash world. My first Pendrell fic. Okay to archive at Archive/X and the Socks Shoppe, and will eventually be archived at my site (go visit, sign the guestbook, run my counter up!):  
[website address given by author no longer valid -- archivist]

* * *

**********************  
Pendrell Talks or Richie and Fonzie  
by Merri-Todd Webster  
**********************

I've always been a good guy. That's my problem.

You know. The sort of guy nobody looks at twice because the first look tells them he's harmless. I look like Opie, Richie Cunningham, Doogie Howser. And I'm too young to remember Opie and almost too young to remember Richie. I'm not much older than Steve Urkel. In fact, I think he and I went to school together.

I'm young, I've got red hair and freckles, and I was born with a pocket protector. I speak several languages and can do calculations in my head for which most people would need a slide rule. Computers roll over and show me their bellies, and I can play almost anything on the piano if I hear it two or three times. I'm a redheaded dweeb, a carrot-topped nerd, a doof, a geek, and so on and so on.

And boy, can I carry a torch.

Have you ever noticed that redheads tend to stick together? Redheads like other redheads. We're the few, the proud, the ones who stand out--out in left field, usually. So it should be no surprise that the woman who is the most beautiful in the world, to me, is a fair-skinned, blue-eyed redhead, someone very likely to bear blue-eyed, red-haired children if she chooses a blue-eyed, red-haired man as the father.

Dana Katherine Scully.

I know her name, her middle name. I'd be willing to bet she doesn't know my first name. And it's not Labboy, either.

James Robert Brendan Pendrell, pleased to make your acquaintance. My friends call me Jamie.

But this isn't about Dana--Agent Scully. This isn't about my hopeless crush on her, all the times I asked her out, the cool, indifferent looks she's given me, or the many times she's nearly died because she's partnered with that rule-breaking, Armani-wearing, smugly smirking hybrid of Rudolf Nureyev and Chevy Chase, Fox William Mulder, better known in the Bureau as Spooky.

No, I'm not jealous. Not much. Even now, I can't help but grind my teeth when he comes around. For a number of reasons.

No, as I said, this isn't about Dana Scully. It's about someone who distracted me from her in a big way. Someone who did something for me that no one else ever did, who gave me experiences I'd never had before. Somebody who actually cared about and paid attention to me--not the labgeek extraordinaire--but me. Jamie Pendrell.

You see, that someone is Alex Krycek.

Every good guy needs a bad guy. Every skywalking hero needs a cynical, wisecracking partner. Every Richie needs his Fonzie, and strange as it may seem, every Fonzie needs his Richie, too.

Jamie Pendrell needs Alex Krycek.

I guess I should back up a little and say, yes, I had a crush on Dana Scully. I thought I was in love with her. So, yes, I'm interested in women. But I've known for a while that I was interested in men, too. Not a whole lot. Not enough that it couldn't be ignored, most of the time. Not enough to make it worth my while to take the risk of stepping outside the box, across the border, into that unknown territory where cute smart good-guys like me don't marry nice smart good-girls like Dana Scully and have 2.5 children in a cute house in the suburbs, but fall for leather-wearing gun-toting green-eyed rogue agents of their own gender.

Hey, I already have a cute house in the suburbs. And some nieces and nephews who adore me. The feeling's mutual. But Alex Krycek took me by the hand and hauled my ass across that border.

Thank God.

It all started the night he broke into the lab. It was between Christmas and New Year's, and he must have been sure nobody would be there. Everybody would have flown home for the holidays and be safely ensconced on the couch with a cup of egg nog, in the company of their loved ones. Not me. My family lives in Suitland, just outside DC, and they know me well enough not to mind if I sneak off to the lab on the fourth day of Christmas, when the egg nog starts to taste a little cloying.

So I was in the lab, close to midnight, on December 27th. I'd wanted another look at some evidence pertaining to a serial killer case; I won't describe exactly what it was, but it was... decayed, and at first, we'd thought it would be no use to us. On second thought, however, I wanted to see if I could salvage it.

So I was puttering around, peering into my microscope, doing my labgeek thing, when I hear a skittering noise. I turned around just in time to see a tall man with spiky dark hair, wearing a beautiful black leather jacket, pull a gun on me.

Smart little non-special-agent that I am, I raised my hands and looked helpless. "Please don't shoot," I said.

The man lowered the gun a couple of inches. "Polite little thing, aren't you," he observed.

I swallowed hard and said, "I'm Agent James Pendrell. Who are you and what are you doing here?"

He started laughing, and the gun came down a few inches more. I'm used to being laughed at, but the funny thing was, I didn't really feel he was laughing at *me*. It was more like, somehow, he was laughing at himself.

"Don't they ever let you out, Mr. Science? You must be the only person in this entire building who wouldn't know who I am and shoot me on sight." He walked over until he was standing right in front of me, the gun almost dangling from his hand.

I swallowed again. He had really incredible green eyes, like limeade on ice. "I don't carry a gun. I'm not a special agent."

The man smiled. It was not a nice smile, but it was an awfully attractive one, just the same.

"Hey, I used to work for the Bureau myself, so I know you're armed. At least, you should be, if you're on Bureau business in any way. Now, I don't really want to have to kill somebody like you, so just hand me your weapon and let me tie you up so I can get what I need and get out of here."

That's when I grabbed for the gun.

Okay, I'm an FBI agent, I was trained to shoot a gun, but I'm not very good at it. I took a six-hour test in sixty minutes and got one of the highest scores on record, but I *barely* passed my fireams exam. I was, however, a wrestler in high school and college, and I still work out. I got a good grip on the wrist of the hand with the gun in it, and I forced it away from me with enough strength to make the other man's eyes shoot open with surprise.

Gotcha, I thought. He was taller, but I was heavier, and in some things, it's good to be short and have your center of gravity low to the ground--

I hooked my leg around his and yanked him off-balance. He fell, the gun flying out of his hand, and I fell right on top of him, nose to nose with my fingers still wrapped around his wrist.

I pinned him good, just like I used to when I wrestled, and got my weight settled over him. I would have had him, surely, if the bastard hadn't raised his head and kissed me.

I guess he did it just to startle me, just because it might be the only thing that would shake me up and make me let go. His head darted up like a snake's, and his lips clamped on mine as if he were going to sink in his fangs. My eyes flapped open like windowshades and then slammed shut when his tongue slid into my mouth.

Boy, could he kiss.

That tongue roved over every nerve in my mouth. I think he counted my taste buds. I'm sure he found my two fillings. Alarm bells and flashing lights were going off in my head, and something else was threatening to go off, too. And it wasn't the gun that was lying six feet away from us.

I realized I was as hard as a rock inside my pants and grinding myself against something just as hard inside his pants. Dear Jesus. There was no way this was happening. Not to me. I do not get this lucky, not even at Christmas.

And then I was on my back with him on top of me, smiling sweetly. "Tell you what, Agent Pendrell," he purred, "I'll just come back and steal what I need another night, when you're not here."

He got up with one supple movement that reminded me, again, of a snake, and disappeared into the shadows, taking his gun with him. And mine, too.

Here is where I stopped being a good boy. I didn't tell anyone what had happened, not that night, not later. I had to fib about the loss of my gun. I packed up everything I'd been working on and went home. I may even have exceeded the speed limit. Then I got into the FBI network from home and found out who my assailant was.

Holy shit. Alex Krycek.

After I picked my jaw up off the floor, I masturbated not once but twice, and I wasn't thinking about red hair and blue eyes and perfect bee-stung lips on a five-foot-two frame. No, I was thinking about spiky black hair and lime snowball eyes and the smell of black leather. The smell of danger.

I masturbated compulsively for three or four nights, and then, just after New Year's, I did the thing that really got me in trouble. I went to this gay bar.

A very nice gay bar. A very *safe* gay bar. Oh, I was careful. I did my research. No leather, no disco--I can waltz, but that's about it--just nice well-groomed guys eating Chex mix with their margaritas and listening to show tunes. The perfect place for a clueless Richie Cunningham to come out of his closet.

Only Arthur Fonzarelli was there already, waiting for me.

I was sitting in a corner, trying to get up my nerve to go play some songs on the jukebox, when I hear this all too familiar voice saying, "So, Mr. Science, they let you out of the lab tonight?"

Alex Krycek sat down across from me, smiling like he knew I wasn't going to try to apprehend him or even call the local cops. He had a drink in one hand and a bowl of snack mix in the other.

"That's Dr. Science to you, Mr. Double Agent," I said haughtily, and then cursed myself for talking like an idiot.

Alex just kept smiling. "Oh, now you know who I am." He glanced around the room as if looking for someone and then focused those implausibly green eyes on my eyes. "Come here often?"

"No," I heard myself say, "it's my first time." Shit, Pendrell! Why don't you just tell him you're a virgin right now so he can laugh in your face and still get home early?

Alex tilted his head and looked at me. Not a snake now, but a bird. A bird with a spiky black crest. "So," he said after staring at me for a minute, "what brings you here tonight, Jim?"

"Jamie." I gulped my beer. "My friends call me Jamie."

I don't remember what we talked about. It was just the sort of thing you talk about with someone you're just getting to know. Sports, books, music, tv, whatever. I just remember fumbling to get my key into the lock with Alex Krycek looking over my shoulder.

He's a traitor, I kept thinking. He's probably, no, don't kid yourself, definitely a murderer. He helped whoever kidnapped Dana. And you want to have sex with him? You want scum like him to be the first person you have sex with?

Yes. Because he talked *and* he listened, and when was the last time a non-relative *listened* to me talk about something that wasn't lab results?

I managed to get the door open, and I stepped aside to let Alex go in first. As soon as I had the door closed, my back was against it and Alex's mouth was pressed against mine. I heard myself groan, felt my knees go weak, and realized what I'd been craving since that crazy night in the lab, what had sent me to a gay bar with condoms in my coat pocket--not to have to always be brave, not to have to always make the first move, not to have to pretend to experience I didn't have because, after all, that's the guy's job. Just to stand there, or lie there, and let somebody else show the way.

Now before visions of bondage toys start dancing in your head, that is *not* what I'm talking about, okay? Yes, I've heard about that kind of sex, and no, I don't mean I want to be a slave in an Anne Rice novel. It's just that, even now, on the eve of the twenty-first century, it's the man who's expected to be in charge, to be suave and debonaire or at least horny and demanding. I can't be like that all the time, not even out of bed. I mean, male or female, a person deserves to be treated like an equal.

Anyway, Alex was doing that thing with his tongue, and both of us were doing that thing with our hips, and suddenly it occurred to me that maybe he wouldn't want me if he knew I was a virgin. Yeah, right, like he wouldn't have guessed.

So I yanked my mouth away--he had my face between his hands--and said, "Uh, Alex--"

"I know," he said, and bit me on the throat. "I promise I'll be gentle."

At which point he dropped to his knees in front of me and started undoing my pants.

"Uh, Alex--Alex--oh, God, *Alex*!"

There is pretty much no point to feeling inhibited about having sex with someone once you've come in their mouth.

The next thing I remember for sure, we were in the bedroom trying to peel each other's clothes off like the layers of an onion. I think we may have tripped over the cat on our way there. She was really mad at me the next day. We couldn't stop kissing each other, and clothes were flying all over the bedroom. Yes, I *am* the neat freak everybody seems to think I am, but right at that particular moment, I didn't care. I yanked down the bedcovers with one hand while the other was busy in Alex's hair, and backed onto the bed so that he was lying on top of me, sort of.

Alex stopped kissing me, which was not what I had in mind, and gave me another thoughtful birdlike look. "So what do you want to do?" he asked. "Aside from what we've already done?"

I shrugged and then smiled. "Let's just do whatever feels good. For once in my life, Alex, I don't want to plan ahead."

He gave me a big grin and then another big kiss. For a while there, I thought I was going to come again just from rubbing up against him while his tongue was in my mouth. Alex had other plans, however; that incredibly skillful, incredibly shameless mouth worked its way down from my mouth to my groin, counting every freckle as it went. I had no idea my nipples were even interested in sex; I suppose that explains why human males, at least, still have them.

I was pretty shameless, too. Somebody was making an awful lot of noise in that room, and it couldn't have been Alex because his mouth never left my skin. I couldn't keep from moaning and groaning and gasping and panting and so forth, and I couldn't keep still, either. I'm not the most limber person in the world--I think that award goes to Alex--but I would have to say I was writhing. It just felt so--*good*. Nothing I could say would be adequate to describe what it was like to be in the hands of a very practiced lover--I can tell practice when I see it--who was completely focused on me. And that was the joy of it. He was paying attention to *me*. He had *noticed* me. Nobody ever notices me. Nobody pays me any attention. Not if their last name isn't the same as mine.

He was sucking on me again when he tried to put his finger inside me. I wasn't really comfortable with that, so I said, "No--Alex--not yet, please--"

"Okay." The finger went away, and then I kind of missed it, but I still wasn't sure if I wanted to--go there. So instead I said, "Alex, I want to touch *you*--"

He rolled away from me and spread out his arms. God! I don't really think I'm going to hell for this, but I'd do it anyway if I did think so. Alex is everything I've always wanted to be--tall and thin and dark, dangerous and mysterious, able to move fast and gracefully, able to intimidate people if he has to. That black hair and those green eyes, long slim muscles like a runner, and not much body hair, not as much as I have--dark tufts under his arms and a thin line growing from his navel down into more hair in his crotch. And he was going to let me touch him, like he actually thought it might feel good. Thank you, Lord. At least I won't die a virgin.

Well, I was proud of myself. I touched him and I kissed him and I even got up my nerve to taste him a little, and Alex reacted pretty much the same way I had. It was the biggest turn-on to hear somebody with a deep voice, I mean, not a woman's voice, groaning because I'd touched him. We wound up in a tight clinch, arms around each other, legs around each other, tongues working like crazy. Finally Alex settled down and started sucking on me again, torturing me, making it last, and though I didn't have the nerve, yet, to take him in my mouth, I got a good grip on him--his skin there feels like velvet--and managed to get him to come about the same time I did.

I know we both fell asleep together in the messed up, sticky bed. When I got up in the morning, he was gone, but there was a note on the bathroom mirror--I keep post-its right there on the back of the toilet--

"Keep your eyes open, Jamie. I'll be back. Alex."

I didn't see him for almost three weeks. I cried myself to sleep a couple of nights. Then I came home after a late-night run to the grocery store and there he was, in my bed, naked and touching himself. It was Friday night, and the next morning he stuck around till almost lunchtime, and we talked, catching up on what I'd been doing.

We didn't talk about what he'd been doing.

I got used to his coming and going, showing up without warning, leaving the same way. He was like a cat we had when I was a kid that used to disappear for weeks at a time, yet always show up again, sometimes needing a trip to the vet, or just ready to be fed and petted and loved. Only I felt petted and loved, fed by his desire to make love with me and to listen to what I had to say.

I never forgot who and what he was, why he had a perfectly good reason not to be around all the time. But I know that it was making love, not just having sex. He's not a bad person. I mean, no one is completely bad. And no one is completely good, either. I've had him inside me, I've been inside him, and I know that bodies don't lie; Alex Krycek cares about me as much as he is able, and I care about him.

And Dana? The ache went away, the one I had because she never noticed me, no matter what I did, she never listened. The jealousy of Mulder went away, mostly. At least I learned that you don't have to look good in an expensive suit in order to be desirable. I don't have to pretend to be something I'm not in order to get Alex to listen.

Just as I've never pretended he's something he's not. Really.

I've always been a good guy. That's my problem. But nobody is completely good, I think, and nobody is completely bad. 

Like me and Alex.

*********

end

 

* * *

 

13 October 1998  
DISCLAIMER: All hail CC, 1013, Fox, and the American legal system.  
Thanks to: Te, for massively detailed beta-reading, and my husband's parents, who had us housesitting to take care of Baron the standard poodle while they were in England. And to Brendan and Nick, for being so thoroughly inspiring.

* * *

********************************  
Pendrell Talks II: Housesitting  
by Merri-Todd Webster  
********************************

I don't know how he found me, but I guess that's part of his, uh, job. And it's not like I minded....

I was housesitting for my sister Janet and her family. She and Marty and the two kids, Dylan and Peggy, and Peggy's best friend Allison, were off to Disneyworld. Somebody had to take care of the pool, the garden, and the aquarium. Enter Jamie, little brother extraordinaire. Janet and I have always been close, and Marty actually likes me, unlike Moira's husband, Gary.

So I packed up my cat, Mrs. 'Arris, and some clothes, books, CDs, and disks, and moved into my sister's house for two weeks. A pool to swim in, a deck to grill on, a pretty good computer system (not as good as mine), and a very large tv in the bedroom, with a VCR and a video collection (much better than mine). Nice accomodations for a free two-week stay.

It was early June, and I took some of my vacation time for the housesitting stint. It was really nice being on my own, having so much time to read or snooze or surf the Net, not having to worry about the crimes behind the evidence I handle for a living. I try not to think about it too much, but sometimes they prey on me, some of the uglier cases.

I was heating up the grill at dusk, ready to work miracles with some Italian sausage, when I heard the whisper of leather over wood and the half-mocking question, "Trying to give me the slip, James?"

I spun around to see my come-again, go-again lover lounging against the back wall of the house.

"Alex!"

Once I put down the oven mitt and the very large two-pronged fork I'd been inadvertently brandishing, I gave him a quick hug and a smile I hoped would stand in for the big kiss I wanted to give him. Too many families in the neighborhood, too many kids roaming freely for that sort of thing. Wouldn't want to shock the bourgeousie.

"You want a beer?"

"Sure."

The hairs on the back of my neck--and elsewhere--were standing up as he followed me into the kitchen. I licked my lips in anticipation as I opened the fridge and bent over to retrieve an India Pale Ale. I have to admit, I waggled my ass a little bit, too, just to be sure I had his attention.

Alex didn't disappoint. As soon as I turned around, he snatched the beer out of my hand. Smack went the bottle onto the counter, boom went the refrigerator door, and thud went my back against the door, Alex's lips smothering mine and his thigh pressing against my crotch. Heaven. Some cutesy little magnet was gouging my shoulderblade like an icepick, but I didn't care. I slipped my hands under the leather jacket and ran them over his sweaty back. It had been too long since I'd seen him.

I was gasping for breath by the time he let go. "Kiss the cook," he murmured into my ear before biting the lobe.

"Can you stay for dinner?" I asked hopefully.

The sausages turned out beautifully. I grilled some onions, peppers, and mushrooms to go along with them and just served it all with some good Italian bread. We both ate and drank hugely, but I thought Alex seemed unusually hungry. He always ate more than I did and obviously burned it off faster than I ever would, but I got the feeling he hadn't had a good meal for a while.

After dinner he helped me clean up. I smiled as I loaded the dishwasher with the plates and the large fork, imagining Alex Krycek with an apron and a dishtowel, drying the dishes while I washed them. He seemed kind of uneasy in the house, despite being so helpful. When we were done, he hung up the wet dishtowel to dry and smoothed it out carefully.

"Hey, Jamie, could I--would it be okay if I spent the night?"

I blinked with surprise and pleasure. "Sure. I'm housesitting for two weeks. I mean, my sister and her family aren't going to show up tonight."

His shoulders seemed to slump with relief when I said that. It was already pretty late--we'd been outside talking for hours--so I said, "Let me show you the bedroom, and then I'm going to take a shower."

Alex actually whistled in appreciation. I grinned. "Pretty nice, huh?"

Kingsize futon on a platform--good for Marty's back--covered with a soft white comforter, not too heavy. Opposite the bed, a large television with a VCR. Boombox on a side table, with CDs and cassettes scattered around it. Thick soft carpet, dark green like moss. Big wardrobes of dark, gleaming cherry, and matching bookcases. Quiet but powerful air conditioning.

"Make yourself comfortable," I said, still grinning. "I'll be right back."

I sang like an idiot during my quick but thorough shower. Early exposure to Lerner and Loewe is a dangerous thing--I think I was caroling "On the Street Where You Live." After the shower I brushed my teeth, rinsed with mouthwash, spritzed on some cologne, downed some Maalox to counteract the aftereffects of dinner, and headed back to the bedroom ready for whatever.

Alex was lying on the bed, on top of the comforter. He'd gotten his shoes and socks off, and dropped his jacket by the bedroom door, but otherwise he was fully clothed. And fast asleep.

Something tightened up in my chest, and it wasn't the little twinge of disappointment I felt. I turned out the light and left him there.

I woke up the next morning to feel warm arms around my chest and wet nibbling along the back of my neck. He knows I'm really sensitive there. I held still, pretending to sleep, for as long as I could, but eventually I had to, well, writhe a little. His cock was between the cheeks of my ass.

"Sorry about last night," Alex whispered huskily.

"That's okay." I stretched, feeling his hands run down my stomach. "You must have needed the sleep."

"Yeah, well, I need something else now...."

Alex flicked his tongue over the rim of my ear just as his fingers brushed over the tip of my cock. The most incredible shudder ran through me, just from that. He could do so much, with so little....

"I think I need that, too." I was getting breathless.

He wrapped his fingers around me and gave one good squeeze, then tugged on my shoulder so that I rolled over to face him. During the kiss, I noticed that his hair was damp and his breath smelled like the cinnamon mouthwash I had used last night. I was touched that he'd sneaked off to take a shower before waking me up, even though it wasn't really necessary. I loved the way he smelled, so different from me, sharper, more astringent. I loved feeling his back last night, his shirt soaked with perspiration, and smelling that mixture of him and the leather. I loved everything about sex with Alex Krycek.

He finally dragged his lips away from mine and started licking my ears, nuzzling my throat, playing with my nipples. I gave a long, long sigh and rolled onto my back, letting him do what he wanted. So far I'd been the more passive partner, for lack of experience, but being made love to by Alex Krycek was an education in itself. Eventually, I vowed, I would get around to giving what I was getting, but in the meantime, it felt so good just to lie back and get ravished....

My whole body tensed up with pleasure and joy when he sucked on the head of my cock and eased his finger into my asshole. I was biting my lip to keep from whimpering, but he realized what I was doing. I did whimper when he pulled his mouth off my flesh. "Jamie. *Jamie*."

I looked down across my chest at him, and he was giving me this--this glare with hot green eyes like some mythical tiger's, his head tilted. I noticed how beautiful his cheekbones were. "Jamie. Don't hold back. I wanna hear it. I wanna hear how I make you feel. Let me hear it." He did something with that finger embedded in me, and I heard myself wail, I didn't know I could make sounds like that.

"That's it. That's it. Lemme hear it."

He went down on me, all the way down, his mouth so tight and wet, demanding it of me, and I let out this groan that rose up through my torso from where his mouth touched me, from where he was stroking me inside. My back arched up, my mouth opened, I let it all vibrate through me, holding nothing back.

"Oh deargoddeargoddeargod...."

Gulp, gasp, writhe, grab the comforter--I was on the next-to-the-last place of pi, right on the verge of infinity, and Alex eased off. That bastard....

"You wanna get fucked now, Jamie?"

Linguistic pervert. He really gets a kick out of making me, James Robert Brendan Pendrell, the good little boy who wouldn't, as my uncle Walt used to put it, say "shit" with a mouthful, talk like a porn star. And I get a kick out of it, too.

"Oh, yes, Alex. I want you to fuck me."

I rolled over and spread without any hesitation. Why do I trust this man when he could so easily put a bullet in my head? I don't know. I just want him inside me more than I want to answer questions.

He got two fingers in easily. I clenched and relaxed and sobbed into the pillow, not caring how I sounded. This was so good, so right, my body craved it, needed something only Alex could give. Let me, I thought, let me show you, let me be like this for you.

"Please, please--"

I raised my ass a little when he knelt between my thighs, nudging them apart. It was torture to wait for him to put on the condom. Then Alex draped himself over me and worked himself in, filling me with his cock.

He was always so careful when he did this. He'd been my first. Always, always there was this boundary of uncertainty, this border between two extremes that touched one another, a few moments when I would whimper like a baby, not knowing what to feel. Then it would cross over, the chord would resolve, and I'd hear myself groaning with joy, Alex, Alex.... I loved the way he would cover me and wrap his arms around me, holding me tight inside and out.

Alex did that now and starting thrusting slowly, kissing the back of my neck. His fingers were teasing my nipples again, but he was careful with his movements. He wouldn't give me more until I let him know I needed and wanted it. I held out as long as I could, giving it back to him with the way I breathed and the way I moved beneath him, until I had to say it.

"Oohhh, Alex, fuck me harder...."

Yes, harder, faster, too. Alex moved back, getting up on his knees and pulling me with him. Knowing hands slid down my belly to my cock.

"You want more?"

"Yeah--"

"You want me to fuck you?"

"Oh please--"

"You want me to come inside you, Jamie?" His voice was getting hoarse as he thrust harder and I was sobbing, gasping, barely able to answer him--

"Yes, yes!"

"You gonna come for me?"

"God, yes!"

Alex started to say something else, but the words broke into a wild shout as his orgasm hit him, and I joined him, threw myself into the fire that was his delight in me and my delight in him, and went through all the possible states of matter several times before returning, more or less, to solidity.

"I'm gonna get spoiled," I mumbled, "if we keep having those simultaneous orgasms."

"Nothing could spoil you, Jamie." He sounded so oddly serious I wanted to worry, but I didn't have the energy.

After Alex pulled out and went to the bathroom, I lay there on my stomach, feeling a little sore but really just blissed-out. If you had told me, a year ago, that my first sexual experience would be with a man, I would have laughed in your face. If you had told it would be with somebody wanted by the agency I work for, I would have called the nearest psych hospitals to see if they had an opening. And here I was, happy as sunshine because my fly-by-night lover had flown in and fucked me senseless. Go figure.

Alex came back and sat on the edge of the bed. I turned over and he stroked my thigh, looking like he wanted to say something. "What is it?" I said.

He opened and closed his mouth a couple times before speaking. "Jame, do you mind if I stay here a while? Maybe for a week?"

He sounded so nervous, like maybe he thought I wouldn't want him around that long. "Sure, Alex. No problem. Like I said last night, I'm here by myself, they're in Disneyworld. As long as we leave the house neat and keep the pool clean, my sister won't mind my having a guest."

Alex got kind of a strange look on his face, one that I couldn't interpret. Then he just nodded and said, "I showered already, so you go ahead."

I was singing in the shower again, only this time it was Irish folk songs I'd learned from my Auntie Maureen. I put on shorts and a t-shirt and went down to the kitchen to find Alex Krycek cooking breakfast.

Eggs in one skillet, sausages in another. A dirty mixing bowl and spoon, and an empty box of muffin mix sitting on the counter. The coffee maker dripping away. I was speechless. I leaned against the fridge with my mouth hanging open. Alex grinned slyly. "Don't do that," he said. "I can't leave the stove to come over there and kiss you."

He stayed for a week. It was the most time we had ever spent together, and the most, well, *normal* time. Alex helped with the pool and the garden, and he did some of the cooking, too. Big cholesterol-rich breakfasts and fat sandwiches for lunch, cans of soup or ravioli, that sort of thing. He was always hungry and ate a lot at every meal, but we burned it off in sex. Yeah, we worked around the house, we talked, we watched movies, but we had sex, morning, noon, and night. I was a happy camper. I was used to a night spent together and a cup of coffee in the morning--tea for me--and then no Alex for two weeks. Now I had him 24 hours a day, and he had me, over and over and over.

And I had him, I have to say. It wasn't like I was always passive. Alex was more experienced and more aggressive, and I loved that, but he was always encouraging when I wanted to take the initiative. For example, the whole video incident was his fault.

"Jamie, did you know your sister and brother-in-law have a serious porn collection?"

I was putting away clean towels in the upstairs bathroom. I turned around--He's always coming up behind me, I thought--and there was Alex, bare to the waist, grinning one of those evil grins and holding something behind his back.

"No way!" *Janet*?

"Yes, way." He smirked. "I was looking under the bed because I thought I'd kicked my shoes under there, and look what I found." He whipped out the thing behind his back and handed it to me.

"'Toy Box'?" I read. I couldn't believe it. "An Ona Zee Production."

"There's lots more where that came from...."

Dumbly, I put the three remaining clean towels on top of the ironing board and let Alex drag me down the hall to the bedroom.

He was not lying. He was not even exaggerating. There was a handsome little collection of erotic videos, including--I turned bright red--one called "Summer Studs" that was obviously all male.

"I bet your sister watches that by herself." Alex was still smirking.

"I don't speculate about my sister's sex life. Or the sex life of anybody else in my family." And I sure hope they don't speculate about mine, I added to myself.

"So don't speculate. Let's watch this and see what happens."

In about nothing flat, I was naked on the bed with Alex stretched out beside me, still in his jeans, watching "Summer Studs." And getting hard before the credits were over.

I am not a bod-watcher. I just... I think it's rude, okay? So I've never looked at women a lot, not obviously, not that I don't notice, and I've definitely never looked at men. I don't usually notice... usually. Now here there were all these, well, hunky guys right in front of me, just a few feet away on a pretty big screen with fine resolution. Everything... right... there. Equipment that made me *and* Alex look pathetic, and I can assure you, neither of us needs to feel embarassed in a locker room. Everything oiled and slippery and muscular. I wanted to feel embarassed. I was blushing. But we were watching these guys do things we had done ourselves. Done and enjoyed, repeatedly. "Do *I* look like that when you're fucking me?" I asked.

"No, you're much cuter." He kissed my ear.

I squirmed but kept watching the screen. Hell, I couldn't take my eyes off it. A husky strawberry blond guy was taking a good-looking brunet, really pushing into him hard, but the dark-haired guy didn't seem to be complaining. They were both grunting with the effort. Does he fuck me that hard? I wondered. I guess he does. And I like it.

"Alex...."

"Yeah, Jame?" His hand was wandering oh-so-casually up my thigh.

"Would you like it if-- would you mind-- that is--"

"You want to fuck me, Jamie?" Those lime snowball eyes were glittering with lust and amusement and understanding.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Did you really think I'd *mind*?"

The two guys onscreen came with loud groans more suitable to, say, open heart surgery without benefit of anesthesia than to sexual pleasure. Two seconds later, one of them was getting sucked off by a very dark-skinned man with muscles so defined, he looked like an anatomy textbook.

Alex stuck something in my hand. It turned out to be a condom and the lube. He'd produced the lube out of nowhere a couple of days ago; maybe it's like American Express....

My cock was dripping so much already that getting the condom on turned out to be quite a trick. He slithered out of his jeans while I was fumbling with myself. I'd never seen anybody who could dress and undress as fast as Alex Krycek. I dribbled the stuff on my fingers, paused, and looked at him uncertainly.

"Just do what I do for you," he said patiently.

I blinked, feeling wildly stupid. "Alex, I've never really tried to think about what you do!"

He started laughing, but somehow that made it all right. He spread out in the middle of the bed, and I knelt beside him and put my hand on his behind. Alex really has a beautiful ass, small and tight and round. I ran my fingers down the cleft, like a little canyon, and then probed carefully at the tight, dark pucker of his asshole. Lord, he was really going to let me do this. I was really going to do it. God, I wanted to.

He was so tight. I guess I must have been, too, the first time we did this. But it hadn't hurt--well, I was sore afterward, but it hadn't *hurt*--and I figure Alex must have done this before, been on the receiving end, that is. The thing was, I'm a little, um, thicker than he is; I was more afraid of hurting him than I had been of him hurting me.

I got one finger all the way in, and Alex was moving his hips in circles, making that finger circle inside him. I could feel him loosening up, and after a bit I squeezed more lube onto his skin and worked in two fingers. That was more difficult, but he kept coaxing and reassuring me, just like he had the first time he did this to me: "Oh, yeah. That's right. A little more. Yessss..... Go deeper... God, Jame! Yeah--yeah--"

I thought I was going to come just from listening to him and getting him ready. Finally, he said, "Come on, Jamie, I'm ready now--I want you to fuck me."

I sat back. "Um, Alex, can we do this with you on your back? Will that work? I want to see your face."

He rolled over, smiling the sweetest, sexiest smile. "Sure, baby. Anything you want."

I scooted up between his thighs and poured on more goop, even though the condom was pre-treated. Alex lifted his legs and hooked them over my shoulders, raising his ass off the bed. I fumbled, blushing, trying to aim myself right. There! Just the head of my cock slipped in, and I froze, checking his face to see if it felt okay.

Alex rocked his hips. "Come on, sweetheart. A little more."

I started to push into him slowly but steadily, watching his face tighten, his eyes fire as if glowing from within, like a cat's at night. "That's it. That's it. Oh, yeah.... It's been a while. Come on!"

I eased in until I couldn't go any further. I was gasping and so was Alex. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." He swallowed hard and arched up against me. "Come on, Jamie, fuck me!"

I hate to say this, but--I had never done this before. With anyone. I'd never been with a woman. I hadn't planned it that way, that's just how it happened. Now I had my cock in my lover's ass, and it was so incredibly tight, and hot, and slick, and I started to move, and then everything went black.

"Jamie! Jamie!"

I opened my eyes to see Alex looking at me with a kind of frightened expression. I felt great, but I couldn't quite remember what had happened. "Why'm I lying on my back?"

Alex snorted. "You fucked me. You came. And you passed out. All in about three seconds."

The blush started on my face but decided to go for covering my entire body. "I'm sorry, Alex--"

"It's okay." He ran his fingers through my hair, which felt nice. "Christ, you had me worried, that was all."

"I'm okay." I put out my arm and got him to lie down against me, swearing to myself I'd do better next time. Which I did, about twenty minutes later.

He stayed a week. Then one day I got up and he was gone. On the bed beside me was an envelope with "Jamie" written on it, in Alex's spiky, spidery handwriting. There was $100 in the envelope, with a note:

"For the food and beer, and so you can buy your own bottle of lube. I'll be seeing you. Love, Alex."

Instead of feeling bad that he was gone, I started grinning like a fool. He'd never used the word "love" before.

*********

end

 

* * *

 

03 October 1998  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, world without end. Amen.  
EXPLANATION: Rosalita, you've inspired me. If I can just finish a smutty little vignette, maybe I'll be able to believe that the well has not dried up forever. This is the goal to which I press. Also loosely inspired by Te's and Alicia's K/P "Soap Series." Very loosely. Actually, I'm using the word "inspired" loosely.  
Takes place in the "Pendrell Talks" universe after "PT II" and before the not-yet-posted "PT III" (CiCi, you promised). No beta, nothing, we're going commando here.

* * *

**********************  
A Little Night Music  
by Merri-Todd Webster  
(9/28/98)  
*********************

I guess it was the rush of cool air over my back that woke me. Then the covers settled down again and something warm and firm pressed up against my chilled skin.

"Alex," I mumbled, "that had better be you."

A wet kiss on the back of my neck made me shiver. "Anybody else been creeping into your bed at night, Jame?"

I rolled over and threw my arm over my lover. "Only the ghost of J. Edgar Hoover."

Alex laughed into my mouth and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against him. I scooted up close and hooked one leg around his, which somehow got his cock between my thighs, underneath my balls. As usual, one kiss from Alex Krycek and I was ready to forget my own name.

"Are we horny tonight?" he teased, moving his hips a little.

"I assume that's why you're here. *I* masturbated earlier."

Knowing fingers curled around my cock. "Ah, youth." A bite on my neck. "Are you hornyyyy tonight...?" he warbled. I tried to knee him in the balls for that one.

"You are many things, Mr. Krycek, but a singer is not one of him." I locked onto his mouth and thrust in my tongue, feeling his fingernails rake over my back.

When I let go of Alex, he unexpectedly turned away. For a second, I thought he was going to ditch me, but he was just turning on the radio. The station display lit up, and an instant later, the opening strains of "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik" burst into my bedroom.

"Mmm, Mozart.... I've always wanted to give head while listening to Mozart." That said, Alex shoved me onto my back and deep-throated me. I think I screamed. I'm sure I took the name of the Lord in vain.

The violins danced on and Alex's tongue danced over my skin in the same rhythm, the wicked little tease. God, this was good. Mozart wasn't gay, was he? No, he was hot for chicks. I tried to recall a list I'd seen sometime, of great minds of Western Civilization who were queer, artists composers philosophers etc.

Suddenly I was feeling a little aggressive. Hell, a lot aggressive. I gave a good shove, putting Alex on his back, and slithered right over top of him so I could get to the radio. A little jiggling of the dial, and I found some station I never listen to, some anorectic waif with a big guitar strumming away and groaning about how awful guys are, scoring the pick-guard with her nails. Then I straddled Alex and leaned with both hands on his chest while I kissed him.

I bit his throat next, and he was gasping for air. Well, I *am* heavier than he is--his metabolism's way too fast, and mine's a little slow. I started chafing his nipples between my fingers. He feigned indifference and said, "If you're gonna be *that* way, why don't you fuck me?"

"Excellent idea, Watson."

Ms. Anorexia was singing "fuck you, kill you, fuck you, kill you," or something like that, while I touched him and licked him and nipped him, counted his ribs with my tongue, sucked him into my throat and stroked his asshole with one finger, gently, no lube yet. "Jesus, Jamie!" Alex shoved the lube and a condom into my hands.

"Impatient, are you?" I grinned.

"Impatient, *this* is impatient--" He twisted around underneath me and changed the station on the radio yet again. I just about jumped off the bed when the scream of uillean pipes surged forth.

"Alex, are you nuts?"

He turned the volume up a little more. "What, you don't like your ethnic heritage? It could be worse, it could be *my* ethnic heritage--"

Alex started bellowing what I *think* was the Song of the Volga Boatmen, over top of Paddy Moloney going nuts on the uillean pipes. Playing the uillean pipes looks a lot like having sex with an octopus, only it's less fun. I had to do something to shut him up, so I squeezed goop on one finger and gave it to him fast. He choked satisfyingly and went back to making cute little "please" noises as I sucked on him judiciously and worked on opening him up.

Eventually he turned over underneath me and got up on his hands and knees. "Give it to me, stud, fuck me good." He waggled his ass encouragingly.

I was laughing so hard I could barely get the condom on. "Geez, Alex, you are so *corny*...."

I pushed in, and the two of us moaned in harmony. I'm the baritone, he's the tenor, go figure. The Clancy Brothers were singing "I'll Tell My Ma" now, but I couldn't help thinking the lyrics weren't quite accurate. It wasn't that the boys won't leave the girls alone; the boys won't leave *each other* alone. I wondered what the girls were doing, all by themselves, but I was thrusting too hard to ask.

Alex was moaning and saying yes, shoving back against me, so beautiful with his head down and that long, lean back spread out in front of me, that perfect ass grinding against my balls. Thank you, Alex, thank you, thank you, thank you for showing me how good this is--

I reached around and grabbed his cock, not too gently but at that point neither of us cared. Two quick pulls and he was coming, shouting hoarsely, the pulse deep inside him making me come, too. I fell forward onto him, just enough strength left to kiss his beautiful sharp shoulderblades.

The radio was serenading us with a mournful air on the bagpipes, one of those alas-for-Bonnie-Prince-Charlie kind of things. Alex fumbled with one hand, but I was the one who managed to pull out and twist the dial. I stopped at a warm big band sound and a male singer I didn't know doing Gershwin's "Our Love Is Here to Stay."

"That sounds good," Alex mumbled. He nestled up beside me, his hand on my shoulder and his head against my neck.

"Yeah, it does," and I drifted back to sleep.

*********

end

 

* * *

 

13 October 1998  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, wail.... Chris Carter, Fox, and 1013 own 'em, and they *know* what to do with them, but refuse to do it.  
Ummm.... I suppose we can get away with an R on this one; bad language, but no play-by-play sexual description. I never thought I'd see the day people could say "ass" and "bitch" on television, so "R" it shall be. Actually, this needs a hanky warning rather than a smut warning: angst, angst, angst. I cried while writing it, so don't blame me if you cry while reading it. It's even more embarassing for the writer.  
Thanks to Te, CiCi, and Amirin for various degrees of beta and encouragement on this whole series. And to Nick and Brendan for being so inspiringly yummy. And to Alex and Jamie for living in my head.

* * *

*********************************  
Pendrell Talks III: Alex's Story  
by Merri-Todd Webster  
(August/September 1998)  
*********************************

Of course you want to know why. Hell, some days *I* still want to know why. If you have to wonder what a nice guy like Pendrell saw in a scumbag like me, you also have to wonder what a player like me saw in a naive virgin like Pendrell.

Stop there. Back up. Better yet, move your tile back to square one, and let's roll the dice again.

Nobody is completely bad. Nobody is completely good. Life isn't either/or, black and white, right or wrong. Just because I kill people when I have to--and often enjoy it-- doesn't mean I'm incapable of caring. Yet. One reason I clung to Jamie was that he reminded me I still had a heart. I liked him, cared about him. Cared for him.

I lied to him that night I broke into the lab. I'd been planning to meet with Mulder, but I hadn't counted on Scully being there, too. I had to run when I found out she was in the X-Files office, or God knows what the bitch would have done to me, and somehow I wound up in the lab. I recognized Jamie, though I'd never met him; I knew him by reputation--the redhaired lab geek, incredibly smart and incredibly shy and awkward. It was right after Christmas, for Chrissake, and there were all these workaholics running around the Hoover building--Mulder and Scully in the office, Pendrell in the lab, guards everywhere. Why weren't these people home getting soused on eggnog, packing away the fruitcake? That's what I'd have been doing if I'd had a home. At least, I'd like to think so.

So I lied, told him I'd broken in to steal something. He was such a harmless-looking doof, with that bright red hair and sleepy blue eyes, I didn't expect him to try to disarm me, or to come damned close to succeeding. He surprised me, and that doesn't happen often. If I hadn't kissed him, he might have turned my gun on me and then called for backup. And God, what I would have missed if he'd done that. Not to mention that jail would have been a real bitch.

Why did I kiss him? Well, I figured it would startle him, throw him off balance psychologically, so that I could then throw him off balance physically, too. And, well, those lips. Full, firm lips. Bright determination in those sleepy baby-blue eyes. Heavy weight of him, short and stocky, on my chest. Aw, hell, my hormones were already flowing in anticipation of seeing Mulder, and I just went with the moment. And so did Pendrell.

I figured he'd probably never come near to kissing a guy. I found out later on how very right I was. But he took to it like a baby takes to sucking. I didn't have it in mind to do more than smooch him, press my lips to his just enough to mess with his mind, but I found myself giving him my best, searching out his mouth with my tongue and tasting the bubblegum sweetness of him. In about nothing flat, I was hard, *he* was hard, and we were grinding our hips together and well on the way to a big mess.

I got out of there as fast as I could. Jingled my lucky charms, lit candles before the icon of St. Nicholas, and hoped Lab-boy wouldn't rat on me. Then after New Year's I went to this gay bar to meet an informer--not to meet Mulder, this time--and saw him again.

He was sitting back in the corner, that red hair standing out against the dark wall, unmistakable, with the fair face and light eyes. Large, scared eyes that watched the action around him, the flirting, the pick-ups, couples greeting one another. Well, I'll be damned, I thought. Looks like I gave Lab-boy a really good time a few days ago. I watched him for a while; he didn't see me. Blue oxford-cloth shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled up. Ginger-colored fuzz on his arms. The flush on his face. Excited and, well, beautiful.

He was going to do something reckless, I knew it. Let himself be picked up by some heartless opportunist who'd use him hard and then tell all his friends how he got to pop some straight boy's cherry. So I figured that opportunist might as well be me. If he wanted what I thought he wanted, I could give it to him, and I'd go easy on him and not gossip to every queer in DC later on. He was beautiful, really, and so completely unlike Mulder that maybe I'd forget about that hazel-eyed bastard for a while.

After I'd talked to my informant, I got myself a fresh beer and a bowl of snack mix and went over to Pendrell's corner table. I started out with a smart-ass line, he came back with a snotty retort, and then somehow we were carrying on a decent conversation. I couldn't remember the last time somebody asked me innocuous questions like, "Do you like football?" and, "What kind of music do you listen to?" Questions without life or death answers, questions you wouldn't get beat up or killed for answering the wrong way. It made me feel like a normal human being again, and damn, I'd missed feeling like that.

I went home with him and... I made love to him. I guess you'd have to call it that. It was his first time having sex, period; it was my first time being someone's first. I could hardly believe a man had made it to his early twenties without losing his virginity, but when I got to know him better, I understood it. Jamie couldn't give his body without giving the rest of himself. He couldn't give his body and withhold his heart. And that's what made me fall for him. After so many fucks that were just mutual masturbation, an agreement to a certain number of orgasms, and too many more that were political maneuvers, calculated seductions, moves in an endless game of chess, to be with someone who gave of himself and opened himself up to whatever I'd give--it was just incredible. He was self-conscious but completely spontaneous. He was inexperienced, but he didn't seem to have any inhibitions. I mean, he didn't try to hide what he was feeling. It was all right out there. Completely honest.

All I did, that first time, was suck him off twice, and he only jerked me off, but that was more fun than I'd had in bed in a very long time. I liked it--and him--so much that I did something completely out of character when I had to leave early. I left him a note promising him I'd be back.

Three weeks went by, and I couldn't get the Lab-boy out of my mind. It wasn't the same as this thing I had with Mulder. Mulder and I... I can't explain it. In Mulder's world, everything *is* black and white. He's the good guy and I'm the bad guy. If I come near him, he has to hit me. I took away his Scully, I betrayed, etc.--all of which is true--so it's some kind of moral failing for him to also have the hots for me. He doesn't want to see how much alike we are, both of us conflicted, both of us backed into a corner, both of us living a bizarrely limited life that we couldn't have imagined ten years ago. If anyone was really different from me, it was Jamie, not Mulder, the redhaired middle child with the sunny personality. Neither Mulder nor I was innocent any more.

I didn't stop wanting Mulder. I also wanted Jamie. So I went with what I could get, took the risk, and just showed up at his apartment one night. And he was just as glad to see me as if I weren't--what I am. No fucking good for him, that is.

I went to see him as often as I could. I tried to spend enough time with him that there was time to talk, before or after the sex. Sometimes I thought he really needed that more than the fucking, though he kept on being fun in bed--and elsewhere. I don't think anybody listened to him if he wasn't talking about lab results.

I have known some dangerously intelligent people in my life, and Jamie Pendrell is definitely one of them. "Geek" and "nerd" and so on are words that mean, "You're so smart, you scare me, so I'm gonna make fun of you to make myself feel better." He was probably born with a pocket protector, but he was nearly as intuitive as Mulder, with an eye for detail and pattern and theory that would satisfy the most rigid scientist. He was one of those people who doesn't just know a lot about one thing; he knew a lot about the sciences, and a little about everything else. It never took much to get him talking, and there was so much I couldn't tell him; I'd let him talk, I'd listen, and then I'd fuck him senseless. It seemed to work for both of us.

He never complained about the way I came and went. He was always happy to see me and never mentioned how long it had been since the last time. He had friends, and was close to his family in a way I couldn't even imagine, but he had no other lovers. He did have this thing for Scully, who only had eyes for Mulder, if anybody, but I was it in the romance department. His life, like mine, went on in between the times we spent together, and we enjoyed those times. I felt so damned guilty about the way I was using him as a safety valve, and so fucking unworthy of the way he loved me, that I was nicer to him than I probably have ever been to anybody in my whole life. He was incredibly nice to me, and I sure as hell didn't deserve it. He loved me.

Yeah, Jamie loved me. He only said it once--I think he didn't ever want me to feel he was trying to blackmail me into saying it--but he meant it. He could bend the truth if the situation called for it, but Jamie was incapable of outright lying, so when he said it, I knew he meant it.

It was the last time we were together. Curled up in his bed, again, so many hours spent there, making love, talking, sleeping. His head on my chest and his arms around me, and all around us the smell of sex, heavy and wet-smelling, like patchouli, like a garden after rain. We'd been at it for hours. I'd come twice and he'd come three times, and we were both just completely wrung out. If I hadn't felt so tired, tired in a good way, a happy way, I never would have mentioned my work to him. God, I've regretted it ever since.

All I said was that something big was coming down, that I wouldn't see him for a while. I needed to keep out of his way, for his protection, but I'd be back as soon as I could. I wanted to reassure him because I expected to be away from him longer than I ever had before. I wouldn't have done that for anybody but Jamie, tried to reassure them. I needed to do it more than he needed to hear it, I think, because he turned his head and kissed my chest, and his voice was so distorted with sleepiness I could barely understand it. But I heard him. "'S okay, Alex, I love you, I know you'll be back."

I guess he wouldn't have said it if he hadn't been as sleepy as he was. I lay awake for hours, holding him, stroking that amazing red hair, treasuring those sleepy, uncensored words. He snored even worse than I do. I left before he awoke, my eyes so raw with wakefulness that the morning light was like knives. For once, I had kissed him good-bye.

I never saw him again.

I know, in my mind, that they didn't take him out because of me. That he really just stepped in front of a bullet meant for somebody else. I wasn't even in the country when that happened. I was running through the woods in some sick Grimms' fairy tale and finding that the helpful woodcutter was really the monster in disguise. I came back to an empty house for sale, the friggin' cat gone who knew where, and nobody could or would tell me anything.

I agonized over it for more than a week, but I finally decided I had to know what had happened, and I had to hear it from someone I could trust. That meant his family. I knew he was close to his older sister, Janet. I'd stayed with him for a week while he was housesitting for her, one time when the heat was on and I needed to hide. Nobody would look for me in a cute suburban house with a pool. I helped him clean that pool, swam with him after dark, gave him a blowjob one night when it was almost eleven o'clock and there was nobody around to hear us, him sitting on the ladder and me hanging on to it, floating, anchored by one hand on the ladder and his cock in my mouth.

I dressed like somebody who might have an academic or artistic job. No leather. A respectable, middle-class queer. Disguised the missing arm the best I could. Went to the house one evening on a weeknight and just rang the doorbell. The man who came to the door, Jamie's brother-in-law, what was his name, Marty, was a tall, husky guy, beerdrinker's belly, friendly eyes, completely unsuspicious. I'd never seen a grown man that unguarded, not even Jamie, he had that little edge, being FBI. Marty let me in and went to get Janet. The two kids were playing on the rug in front of the tv, half-watching some family sitcom, and I never felt so evil in all my life.

She came down the steps and stopped for a moment, then smiled politely and gave me her hand. She was taller and thinner than Jamie, with an almost horsy face, but the same red hair, the same sleepy blue eyes. I introduced myself as Alex Krycek, and then her face changed, so drastically that all my instincts said turn and run. But somehow I didn't. I had to know.

She glanced at her husband, and something flew between them, some telegraphic thing that reminded me of Mulder and Scully. Then she said, in a very normal tone, "Why don't you come into the kitchen with me, Alex, and we'll have some coffee."

I followed her into the kitchen. It was just as I remembered it, only with a few things out of place, a few dirty dishes in the sink, typical late-evening clutter for a family. I sat at the little table where I'd eaten with Jamie and watched, silent, while she made fresh coffee and put cream and sugar and mugs on the table. A Star Wars mug, and a Lost in Space mug. Christ, what was I doing here? I was sweating bullets despite the chill of the day, and the arm was aching and itching and killing me, phantom pain and real pain together. Janet sipped her coffee, looking at me over the rim of the mug with eyes as pale and sleepy as Jamie's. Deceptively sleepy. "You're Jamie's lover, aren't you," she said at last.

Stunned, I just nodded.

Janet stirred her coffee. "Jamie and I were very close." *Were?* I thought. Oh, God.... "He told me about you. Said he was seeing a man named Alex. That you weren't around all the time, he could never bring you to the family barbecue, but that you were a good guy--" Christ! "--and he was happy. Oh, Alex, you made him so happy...."

She sniffed hard and jumped up from the table, grabbed a paper towel to wipe her face. I stared at her, blinking like a gerbil. "Were. Made. *What happened*?" 

Jamie's sister blew her nose thunderously into the paper towel. "He's dead, Alex."

She started crying, and I started crying, too. I couldn't help myself. It came out of her between sobs, how he stepped in front of a bullet in a bar, a bullet that was probably meant for that bitch Scully.... I couldn't even see my coffee. I couldn't think. I guess Marty must have known what was going on. He stayed out of the kitchen and kept the kids away, and we just sat there sobbing for I don't know how long. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe he was gone. I couldn't believe I was crying. I hadn't cried over my parents' deaths, I hadn't cried in years and years, I didn't think I could cry any more... but I cried with this wife and mother from the 'burbs who hadn't a clue how dangerous the world could be or what kind of man her beloved little brother had loved.

When we sort of ran out of crying, for the moment, she put her hand on mine. "He really loved you, Alex. And he was really happy. He would want you to know that."

I snorted. "I know. And I fucking don't deserve it--excuse me."

Janet smiled weakly. "Don't apologize. I've used language worse than that over his death." She sighed, a broken noise like she was about to cry again. "It's just so pointless--"

I actually put my arm around her.

I met with her the next morning and we went to the cemetery together. I cried a good bit more and left flowers, roses, red and white. Then we drove back to her house, where I'd left my car, had some more coffee, talked about Jamie. She hugged me before I left. It's the only time I've been to his grave.

Life goes on, I guess. I still have my job to do. I still have that thing with Mulder. I still have to cover my ass, day in and day out. Life goes on, whether you lose a lover or lose an arm. But I think my left arm isn't the only part of me that's missing. I think I lost something else when Jamie died. I think it was what was left of my heart.

I only wish I'd told him I loved him.

*********

end

 

* * *

 

[Forwarding, with much pleasure, for MT. -H]  
DISCLAIMER: Ratboy and Labmouse officially perform their tricks only for Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox (but they're very grateful when we let them out of their cages...).  
Okay, I deleted the messages where people pleaded for Pendrell-on-St.-Patty's day, but whoever you are, this one's all your fault. And Alex's. A little pre-holiday madness in the "Pendrell Talks" universe. Dedicated to a guitar called Morrison and a little-known band named "Fire in the Head".  
Rated NC-17 for smut and dirty language. All obscenities in English, none in Gaelic. Not beta'd, just channeled. Feedback welcomed at 

* * *

********************************************  
Wild Irish Rose: A Pendrell Talks Interlude  
by Merri-Todd Webster  
(22 February 1999)  
********************************************

I must have been possessed that night. Yeah, that's it, possessed. Possessed by some little imp from an Irish fairyland, a leprechaun or something like that. That's the only thing I can think of that would explain why I went out for St. Patrick's Day with Pendrell.

I would hate to think that I said yes just because he looked at me. With those sweet, sleepy blue eyes that have tiny little freckles on the lids, specks of cinnamon on vanilla cream. I would hate to think that just because he'd never asked to go out on a normal date--never asked me for anything, come to think of it--that the one time he did ask, I couldn't say no. It would really ruin my image as a hardened killer and potential player in the world's biggest conspiracy game if I couldn't say no to my boyfriend. Even if he is the smartest, sweetest, cutest guy I know.

So I really had to have been possessed. Really.

I wore black, as usual. He wore green, of course. I slithered into the passenger seat of his Volvo and, after making sure there was no one to see us, leaned over and gave him a good one--a nice, wet, sloppy kiss, with lots of sucking on his lower lip. When I let him go, he blinked loudly a couple of times, opened and closed his mouth, and then said, "Hi, Alex," in this quavery little-boy voice.

I smiled. "Hiya, Jamie." I think he might have come in his pants.

Jamie drove pretty fast to the Irish bar of choice, looking the whole time like he didn't know whether to come or throw up. He probably looked like that at his senior prom in high school, if he wasn't one of those poor guys leaning against the wall at the back of the gym without a date. The bar in question was somewhere in the hinterlands of Baltimore, a real hole in the wall with a haze of Guinness fumes around it that extended a good two blocks.

"This is a great place." Poor Jamie was nearly stuttering with excitement. "I mean, if you come for the music." He bounced along the sidewalk. "It's not much on decor, and the menu's pretty sucky most of the time, let alone tonight, but wait'll you hear--"

He pushed the door open, and I couldn't hear anything. This godawful roar rose up and hit me. It was people yelling and feet stomping and Guinness and cabbage and somebody shouting at the top of their lungs and some really horrific noise like a yak being strangled. Jamie looked at me and turned bright red and beamed.

We squeezed our way into this dingy, smoky hole filled with drunken Irish and pseudo-Irish people. It had a low ceiling and tired-looking paneled walls covered with ethnic banners, a rectangular bar in the middle, and tables toward the back. To the left of the door, in a corner, was a clear area, not quite good enough to be called a stage, occupied by what I guessed was an Irish band.

Jamie took my hand and dragged me toward the bar. All around us people were swaying from side to side as they yelled, "And it's no, nay, neverrrrr... No, nay, never, no morrrrrrre! Will I plaaaayy the wild roverrrrr... No neverrrrrr, no morrre." It sounded like a pack of dogs trying to growl on key.

"Two Bushmills!" Jamie's voice penetrated the roar and somehow reached the bartender as well as me. Pretty soon two tumblers of Irish whiskey were sitting on the bartop in front of us, amber stuff with a scent strong enough to pierce through the reek and crawl up my nostrils.

Jamie picked up his glass and held it up. "Slawncha!" he said, and took a good slug.

"Nazdrovye," I replied, and gave it a try. I started coughing and choking. Jamie pounded me on the back.

"Sorry, Jame, but it'll never replace Stoli."

An unexpected hush fell over the bar. Jamie elbowed me and pointed at the stage. A tiny little woman with black hair, a little wisp of a thing not as big as the big guitar slung around her, had taken the microphone and adjusted it to her height.

"That's Trina O'Donnell," my lover hissed in my ear. "She's *fabulous*."

The tiny guitarist, head bowed, started picking out a relentless repeating figure on the bass string. After a few bars, she raised her head and began to sing.

"As down the glen one Easter morn To a city fair rode I...."

Her voice was low and slightly husky, with an edge that made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. This chick was dangerous, don't ask me how or how I knew.

"There armed lines of marching men In squadrons passed me by. No pipe did hum, no battle drum Did sound its dread tattoo, But the Angelus bell over the Liffey swell Rang out through the foggy dew."

As she concluded the first verse, the bagpiper behind her started a drone. The sound of that thing groaning into life, like something waking from the dead, made the hair stand up all over me and my fingers twitch toward my gun. I slugged down more whiskey to keep from growling like a dog.

"'T was England bade our wild geese, Go, That small nations might be free. But their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves Or the fringe of the great North Sea. Oh had they died at Pearse's side Or fought with Cathal Brugh Their bones we'd keep where the Fenians sleep 'Neath the shroud of the foggy dew."

With each successive verse, another instrument joined her. With each successive verse, her voice got a little louder, a little harsher, a little angrier. She was working herself into a rage with this song, yet her fingers never broke the simple, syncopated rhythm they were plucking out. And nobody in the bar made a sound.

"But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell Rang mournfully and clear For those who died that Eastertide In the springing of the year."

She had hushed her voice at the beginning of this verse, and the other musicians faded away in the background. Then suddenly she threw back her head, and her voice rose in a fierce crescendo.

"While the world did gaze in deep amaze At those fearless men but few Who bore the fight that freedom's light Might shine through the foggy dew."

There was a moment of absolute silence as the last notes rang out, quiet but steady over the drone of the pipes. Then pandemonium broke out, and I realized I was whistling, cheering, stomping, clapping, along with everybody else.

I finished my whiskey and returned Jamie's beautiful, excited grin. "She *is* fabulous." I turned to the bartender and ordered a Guinness.

The band launched immediately into a fast, silly tune that had people stomping and singing along again, but I was more interested in Jamie. He was flushed with excitement, but on the other hand, he seemed perfectly comfortable here. He knew the band, obviously, and he was humming along with the music. The forest green shirt made him look even paler than usual, white like milk; his hair was practically standing up, and his eyes were sparkling, not sleepy any more.

I wanted to jump him.

He didn't resist when I tugged on his hand and led him away from the bar. He was so busy saying hi to people he knew that he didn't even notice I was leading him towards the men's room. And then the door was locked behind us and the two of us were crammed into this dark smelly little room that wasn't even a hole, more like a wedge.

"What the fuck are you *doing*...?"

He yelped when I bit his throat. "Funny you should say 'fuck', Jame...."

I dug into my pocket and pulled them out with a flourish: two condoms and a tube of lube. Jamie's eyes went absolutely round, like saucers. I thought I was going to bust my gut trying *not* to laugh.

"Alex, you can't be serious--"

"A man who carries lube and condoms isn't serious? Think about it, Jamie." I went after that spot on his ear. He started panting. "Believe me, I'm serious."

I turned him around, and he braced his hands on the wall. "Ow, fuck, I think I got a splinter... I can't believe I'm doing this--"

"I can't believe *I'm* doing this," I growled, fumbling with his zipper. "I can't believe I let you drag me to a fucking Irish bar--do you have any *idea*--"

Jamie turned his head and I kissed him, kissed him hard and wet and deep instead of saying the dangerous things I'd been about to say, and he whimpered into my mouth as I got my hand on his cock and there it was, yes, I was going to fuck him.

Silky sturdy slick cock in my hands, I ground my cock against his ass and rubbed my sweaty face against the beautiful forest green shirt across his back, soft fine cotton as smooth as skin. I got my own zipper down with one hand, got my cock out, and then I was practically yanking his jeans down to his knees, "Oh, Alex, Christ, please...."

"I'm right here, Jame, I'm right here." I don't know where Christ is, but I'm here, and the closest I get to religion is making love to this man. I got two fingers *very* slippery and started working my way in, and he wanted it, fuck, did he want it, pushing back onto me and wiggling to help me in there, I felt for his prostate and found it and he shuddered.

Somebody pounded on the door. It didn't matter. "In a minute," I barked. Jamie stifled a laugh.

"Think it'll take that long?"

I jabbed his prostate again for that one, and he yelped, a good yelp. Then I slicked on the condom, wiped off my hands on my jeans, and started easing up into him, sliding my hands up under his shirt to find his nipples.

"Oh, Alex--Alex--Alex--"

Jamie did most of the work, screwing himself down onto me with little moans and whimpers, pushing me back so he could bend forward farther and get me in deeper, at a better angle. He had lost it, he had *really* lost it, oh boy, I did this to him, to straight-As Jamie, and I groaned like I'd been knifed and fucked him hard and deep and fast, holding him, not letting him go, and grabbed his sweet cock again and we both came.

He started giggling when I handed him the wad of paper towels.

"Shhh! Shh!"

He couldn't help it. He kept giggling as we put ourselves back together, right up until I opened the men's room door--and then he tossed his head and sauntered out of there looking totally bold. God, this man.... My chest hurt so much with what I felt for him that I nearly took out my gun and shot myself.

A guy with long dirty blond hair falling in his eyes was at the mike now, thumping on a drum and singing something about "Whiskey in the Jar." The Irish are the only race who can give the Russians competition in alcoholism. Jamie went to the bar and got us both fresh stouts, while I watched the piper play. It wasn't actually a bagpipe because he wasn't blowing into it--I know you have to blow into a bagpipe--this guy was using his elbows more, and his knee, come to think of it. It looked kind of like making out with an octopus, and it made the most hideous noise....

I felt Jamie's hand on my ass. "If you wanna go now, Alex, that's okay."

I looked down into warm, glowing blue eyes. He was smiling a tiny smile. I gave him a special smile right back and, feeling daring, leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose. "I'll leave when you do, my wild Irish rose, 'cause I'm going home with you."

*********

end

Note: Jamie's toast means "health" and is properly spelled "slainte". I don't know what Alex's toast means, but I stole it from _Fiddler on the Roof_. Virtual Bushmills to anyone who knows who "Trina O'Donnell" really is. --MTW

 

* * *

 

Skinny Dipping:   
A Pendrell Talks Interlude  
by Merri-Todd Webster  
(10 August 1999)

* * *

My lover, Alex, has this weird effect on me. He drives me crazy with lust and joy and gets me to do things I would swear in a court of law I would not be capable of doing. Like, for instance, having sex with a man. And he does it just by looking at me. Heck, just by being in the same room with me.

The summer after I met him, I was housesitting at my sister Janet's for about ten days while she and her family went to Disney World. Alex dropped by one night and stayed a whole week, and boy, did we have a good time together. Alex has a kind of, uh, unusual job, and before the housesitting, I hadn't gotten to see him really regularly or for long stretches of time. So having him there in bed every night, and at breakfast every morning, was a real treat.

So one night we were hanging out by the pool. I'd fired up the grill again and done something good with chicken and roasted vegetables, and then we were just lying around talking as it got dark, drinking beer and waiting for it to be safe to go in to swim. You can believe *I* wasn't going swimming right after a heavy meal, and even though he made fun of me, I wouldn't let Alex do it, either.

As a result, it was pretty dark but still fairly hot by the time I seriously started thinking about a swim. I emptied my second beer, put the bottle on the table, and swung my legs off the chaise. "You ready to get in the water, Alex?"

"Sure." He chugged his beer, belched, and stood up. I couldn't help noticing that his swim trunks, which were borrowed from me, were hanging pretty low around his hips. And nice hips they were, too, and so was that little line of brown hair pointing down from his navel....

He saw me eyeballing him and grinned, and then gave me a once-over. As usual, I turned red. "Hey, there, Jame, you're looking pretty hot--you'd better cool off--"

The bastard picked me up and threw me in the water. Alex is taller and skinnier than I am, but he's always catching me off guard and getting the better of me. In fact, that's kind of how we met, but that's another story. Fortunately for both of us, I'm a good swimmer, and I don't hold grudges. Much.

He dived in after me and tried to dunk me when I came up, but I dunked him instead, and soon we were wrestling and laughing like kids. I stopped acting like a kid, though, and started acting like a horny guy when I noticed his trunks--*my* trunks, too big through the waist for him--were about down to his knees.

See, this is where I do one of those crazy, inexplicable things that only Alex can make me do. I grabbed for his cock with one hand and pulled the trunks further down with the other.

Alex let out a yelp, but the swim trunks were long gone, sinking away to the bottom of the pool. I'd have to dive for them in the morning. He was naked as a newborn in the water--nice warm water, by the way, it's a heated pool--and getting hard in my hand.

He called me something I didn't quite catch and then went after the waistband of my trunks with both hands. Grinning smugly, I didn't even put up a token resistance. I let him strip me and then I pulled him close, my arm around his back, my hand still on his cock, and kissed him.

It's Alex's kisses that really drive me crazy. I started the kiss, but as usual, he finished it, and his tongue was just everywhere and his hand was on *my* cock now. Sweet Alex, he tastes so sweet and fresh all the time, as if he'd just used some kind of mouthwash, and his tongue was all over the inside of my mouth the way the warm clear water was all over the rest of me from the chest down.

"You make me crazy, you know that?" I whispered into his ear and then licked it. He likes that. "You make me do totally insane things." I slipped my hand between his thighs so I could touch his balls and his ass and the hollow between them. "Like right now, I want to suck you off, I really really want to suck you off."

Alex made this weird noise, half-laugh, half-snort, and let me push him back against the ladder. We were standing in water up to our chests, feet safely on the bottom. He started to hitch himself up onto the ladder, to sit on it, but, "No," I said, "you just hang on. Hang onto the ladder, Alex, and float."

He got the idea and grabbed the sides of the ladder with his hands, letting his feet come off the bottom. He looked so good, the way holding the ladder made the muscles of his chest and arms tense up, beautiful lines you could write beautiful equations about. Once he was comfortably afloat, I cupped his ass in my hands--it felt like the curves of some sea creature, fuzzed all over with miniscule bubbles--and started working on his cock.

He tasted like chlorine, a little bit, but I soon licked all that off, and he was hot, hotter than the water, hotter than the air. A laser beam sticking up out of the water. Some kind of fiery popsicle. After a minute or two, he was leaking into my mouth, and the salty taste made me think we were floating in the ocean instead of just hanging out in my sister's pool, hidden from the neighbors by darkness and high fences.

Alex thrashed in the water as I went down further on him, and the ripples rocked me, stroked my cock, swung my balls against my thighs. Crazy. This was crazy, skinny-dipping in my sister's pool with my alleycat boyfriend, and God! I loved every minute of it.

I went all the way down, doing my best to suck him deep and use my throat muscles on him, and as the ripples hitting my chest got wilder and wilder, I slipped my hand into the cleft of his ass and found his asshole.

Alex let out a ferocious hiss like a tire deflating and came, hard, his cock down my throat and my finger right inside the rim of his asshole. When he was all done, he let go of the ladder and just floated there, skin white under the moon and his hair blending into the water in the darkness.

"Jamie." He sounded as if he were dreaming. "You're incredible. Nobody else knows how to make me feel like this."

It was a corny, romantic thing to say, but it didn't sound like that. It sounded tired and amazed and even a little sad. There was so much about this man I didn't know... and didn't want to. But--I loved him.

I put my arms around him and kissed him, slowly, deeply, and he floated serenely in my arms like a drowning man.

***

end


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